


Thus spoke, indulgent to his best belov'd.

by LetMeBeBrave



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Fluff, Inquisitor Backstory, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, me waxing poetic about the sunrise for a while, only in the middle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetMeBeBrave/pseuds/LetMeBeBrave
Summary: Because there was just something about that time of day – when the world was still asleep, the golden warmth of the sun gently coaxing it awake.The way the clouds would turn such bright colors, and the birds would sing their praises, as if admiring it's beauty as well.Mahanon would sit on rocks as a younger man, at the highest point he could find, surrounded by dew and tired flowers – just to have the full experience of watching the world wake.But that was, of course, a different time.





	Thus spoke, indulgent to his best belov'd.

**Author's Note:**

> I cant say i really know what this is -- it started out as a vehicle for sweetness and ended up a character study.  
> So enjoy, i wrote this in one evening and if there are any mistakes they're mine and mine alone 
> 
> The title is from Alexander Pope's translation of The Iliad

  
  
Mahanon had always been an early riser.  
  
His childhood in the forest made sure of that, rising with the sun to go out gathering herbs for the Healers soon as he was old enough – spanning into his later years as the First to the Keeper, tending to the clan's halla before most others were awake, helping the elders mend blankets and bedrolls.  
  
He fondly remembers his family being puzzled by this, his father leaving their tent at dawn one morning to find a young Mahanon sitting on a log, legs tucked up to his chest as he stared at the pink sky.

  
His father chuckled at the sight, softly mussing Mahanon's hair.  
_“_ _You need rest, Da'len – the sun will still be in the sky when you wake.”  
_

“ _But it won't be the same.”_ He thought as he was carried, half asleep, back into the family tent.  
  
  
Because there was just _something_ about that time of day – when the world was still asleep, the golden warmth of the sun gently coaxing it awake.  
The way the clouds would turn such bright colors, and the birds would sing their praises, as if admiring it's beauty as well.  
  
Mahanon would sit on rocks as a younger man, at the highest point he could find, surrounded by dew and tired flowers – just to have the full experience of watching the world wake.  
  
But that was, of course, a different time.  
  
Now, that's not to say that his waking habits ever changed – he still found himself waking with the sun, whether it be in a tent on a far off mission, or through his windows in Skyhold, but it started to feel less like a blessing, and more like a burden.  
  
For he had so much on his plate.  
Once he had been starving for opportunities to show his worth, prove that he was worthy of responsibility.  
And now...he was over full, nearly choking on all this _glorious_ responsibility being shoved his way.   
  
_“Once, just this once,”_ He often found himself pleading with Mythal from under many, many blankets, _“Just let me sleep, let someone else watch them wake. I can't, not today..._ _there's too many of them..._ _”_  
  
  
Because once the promise of a new day came with the possibilities of wading in rivers and scouting new camp sites.  
And now they came with the surety that so many lives were in his hands – so many people looking up at him as their savior, as their Herald, when he himself knew he was none of those things.  
He was...He was positive he had ulcers. __  
  
When he first came to Skyhold, he would fill the painful mornings with seemingly endless reports, closing the curtains on the enormous doors in his Tower quarters and sequestering himself away at his desk, signing treaties and writing condolence letters until his hands ached.  
  
When he was younger, in the days where he climbed rocks and listened to the birds in the dusk, he never felt alone, despite being the only one of his Clan awake – because the sun was his companion.  
It called to him, sang to him, and he would gladly listen to it's song. It reassured him that he was never truly alone, no matter where he was.  
  
But, after the conclave, after he gained the anchor...he had never felt more alone, despite having so many people surrounding him at all times, never having a moment's reprieve from their prying questions.  
  
His first few months as Inquisitor were the loneliest months that he could remember – his quarters felt too large, too barren.  
His bed felt too plush, so large that he often felt dwarfed by it's size, and sometimes found himself asleep on the floor, curled up on blankets for just _some_ kind of familiarity, something to feel like the bedrolls he had as a child.  
  
Mahanon never realized how terrifying waking up alone could be, until it was all he knew.  
  
  
Mahanon also found that, after so long alone, waking up beside someone was a kind of relief that could bring one to tears.  
  
Waking up in someone's arms, with his ear pressed against their chest while their heart steadily pumped away, was a kind of music he could become addicted to.  
  
  
  
  
  
He had had his fill of lonely mornings, of hiding himself away from the things that made him feel whole.  
Now, feeling the crisp mountain air blowing across his skin made Mahanon wonder just _why_ he hadn't done this more often during his first months in his new Home, when he found himself leaning against the railing of his private balcony.  
  
The sun was just beginning to crest over the mountains, glittering through the snow and seemingly turning it all to pink and gold gems.  
It's rays were close to touching his fingers where they grasped at his own forearms, fiddling with the fabric of his robe.  
  
A soft smile was on the Elf's face, his hazel eyes warm and still drowsy as he watched the glorious display before him.  
_“_ _Andaran, atish'an, Falon.”_ He found himself whispering to the sun itself, his voice still raspy from sleep.  
  
Give or take a few key differences: namely the location, the fact that this was _his_ balcony, and the faintly glowing mark on his left hand, the situation felt so very familiar to being back in the Free Marches as a younger man.  
  
The bird calls were different here, but no less beautiful.  
They still sung their praises of the spreading light, and Mahanon couldn't agree more with their songs.  
  
It occurred to Mahanon that, in his nostalgia, he had forgotten to mark another key difference down as a pair of strong, sleep warmed arms wound themselves around his middle, and a forehead gently _thumped_ against his shoulder – both of these events causing Mahanon's small smile to widen.  
  
“Good morning, ma vhenan,” He crooned, placing both of his hands over the ones Dorian had secured around his waist.  
“How kind of you to join us in the land of the living.”  
  
An affirmative rumble from the chest pressed against his back was his only answer, followed by a press of lips to his shoulder.  
  


“What could have possibly dragged you out of bed so early, hm? Why, it's not even noon yet.” Mahanon prodded with a grin in his voice.  
  
“I was getting _terribly_ cold all by myself, Amatus. Really, how cruel of you to abandon me on such a brisk morning,” Dorian said, trailing his lips to Mahanon's neck as he spoke. “I could have caught a chill. And it would be all your fault.”  
  
Mahanon wasn't quite sure that Dorian could hear his eye roll, but he tried to convey it anyway, an eyebrow shooting up as well.  
“You? Cold? Under the absolutely ridiculous pile of blankets you insist on us sleeping under?” He asked with a laugh.  
“Oh, but I must remember: You are a delicate northern flower, ma vhenan.”  
  
“See? Now you're getting it,” Dorian hummed, pressing a barely there kiss underneath a pointed ear.  
Mahanon shuddered, and they fell into a comfortable silence in each other's arms; simply listening, simply being.  
  
Mahanon was struck then, not for the first time, by the urge to bring Dorian to his homeland. To share this same experience with him, from the exact spot where Mahanon fell in love with the sunrise in the first place.  
The exact spot where it felt the most ethereal.  
  
  
“...Amatus,” Dorian softly broke their silence, one hand slipping into the fold of Mahanon's robe and resting on his ribs; a thumb rubbed there.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“...I am _still_ cold.”  
  
A Chuckle, “One tends to be, standing outside without clothing.”  
  
Another affirmative rumble, another kiss to Mahanon's neck.  
“Yes, such a pity...” Dorian sighed.  
“If only there was a charming,” _kiss_ “handsome,” _kiss_ “wickedly talented elf that I could pull back into our bed and warm me...”  
  
“Mm, such high expectations...” Mahanon's eyes had fallen shut and a dark blush was dusting high on his cheeks, causing his Vallaslin to stand out even more, his smile truly blissful.  
  
“Why, of course. I only accept the best, after all,” A hand moving up and down his side soothingly, lips trailing up to the point of his ear.  
“...And you certainly _are_ the best, Amatus. Truly the man of my dreams.”  
  
“The things you say...”  
  
“All true, I can assure you. Now,” Mahanon allowed himself to be turned around, to have his face cupped in two capable hands. He practically melted into the touch.  
“Come back to bed with me, my darling. We can watch the sun from there, yes?”  
  
Mahanon was forced to give pause as he stared at the man in front of him – at how golden his skin appeared in the new light, how his sleep mussed hair was curling by his forehead, how his eyes seemed to glow so brightly.  
Oh, he couldn't _not_ kiss him, not when he dared to look so perfect.

  
And Dorian held him close, kissed him like he was something truly precious, something to be treasured.  
_Mythal, I am lost in him._  
“Now, How could I refuse such an offer?”  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> that's that, i love Dorian pavus and i hope you all do too 
> 
> I also hope that this made sense to anyone besides me, and that yall liked it
> 
> (i uh...Have a tumblr, it's 'bunch-of-bees' so hit me up there if you liked this, or any of my other works as well !)
> 
>  
> 
> Kudos are wonderful, comments make my day, let me know what you thought, and i'm out.  
> bye babes


End file.
